apartment with three windows on one side of the building, all of which face the windows of another apartment building across the alley.  sometimes i’ll look out and see someone watching tv, someone cooking dinner, someone engaged in conversation with other someones.  more often than not, however, they’re watching tv.

i’ll never meet these people, never know what goes on in their lives other than these mundane tasks i catch odd glimpses of on days when our blinds are open.  or, if i do happen to meet one of them, at a bar or coffeehouse or as someone’s mutual friend, i’ll never know that the new person i’m sipping and talking with is the same person whose kitchen walls are strangely bare, or whose television always flickers in the dark behind the vine leaves that cling to the building.

in that sense, my accidental voyeurism is a lot like television in itself.  i’m looking at pictures out of context, watching people playing parts, seeing tiny slices of existence.

except for the fact that they can see me, too.  i live in an